


The Sun

by Mozzarella



Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Dubious Consent, F/M, Falling In Love, M/M, Reincarnation, in some parts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 13:25:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2623331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mozzarella/pseuds/Mozzarella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pitch is the Immortal Nightmare King. Neither cruel nor evil, he maintains balance in the world by bringing fear to protect its people. Sandy is a mage, inventor of the mystical dreamsand, kind and good. And mortal. They fall in love, and are happy for a time, but then Sandy's time runs out. Pitch is devastated, and his nightmares ravage the land... until he finds that Sandy has been reborn, this time as a woman. So, Pitch starts over and woos his love again.</p><p>And again and again. Each time Sandy is reborn, Pitch finds him/her and attempts to bring her/him to his side. Sometimes the Nightmare King uses force; other times he gives his love little choice. And, sometimes he is sweet and passionate, and shows a softer side he only has for his love.</p><p>Then suddenly, Pitch can't find Sandy. He searches the world over, but their is no trace of his love. Pitch loses control, much like he did the first time Sandy died, and becomes a cruel tyrant. He tortures the mortals with never-ending nightmares and spreads destruction across the land.</p><p>Then a group of adventurers show up to stop him. A bandit, a Queen, a Pooka (once thought extinct), a winter sprite, and... his Sandy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A kink meme fill I'm starting up again! http://rotg-kink.dreamwidth.org/1511.html?thread=1445095#cmt1445095

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandy catches the attention of the Nightmare King himself.

  
_“Neither the sun nor death can be looked at steadily.”  
― François de La Rochefoucauld_

* * *

  
  
They knew of the Nightmare King. Of the great beings that lived above the golden city, he was the most feared. Pitch Black, keeper of the fearlings, tamer of nightmares, and emperor of darkness, who ruled with a cold face and dark eyes--not so cruel as they were hardened.   
  
For all the fear the people of the golden city harbored against the Nightmare King, there was no denying his place in their world. For it was fear that kept their children in their beds at night, and it was the king himself who rallied his nightmare creatures, keeping them from running wild and feeding off the happy people that lived in the kingdom below.   
  
But all the people in the golden city had once been children. All held onto the fear that the night and the king had afforded them in childhood, and all still feared, even if not all hated.   
  
All but one.   
  
For within the heart of the golden city, there was a little golden man, round as his heart, which held no fear for the king, Pitch Black.   
  
That was because, of all the people of the golden city, the mage, the sand-man, Sanderson Mansnoozie (or Sandy, as he was called by neighbors and friends), was the only one who had never had a nightmare. 

 

* * *

 

The evening was bright, and the dark king was restless. Below him, he golden city sparkled, bathed in the light of the moon.   
  
There was no space for nightmares, not on a night like this, when the man in the moon decided that his ship should shine brighter and the clouds should part for the stars to guide travelers.   
  
And Pitch remained in his palace, surrounded by his fearling subjects and his nightmares, though thoroughly, unequivocally, alone.   
  
It wasn't until the deep evening that he was roused from his rest. At the corner of his eye, within his dark palace, he saw a sliver of light. With an infinitesimal gesture, he caught the sliver within a claw of shadow, and it jumped like a small animal, though it did not struggle when he summoned it close, examining it with sharp yellow eyes.   
  
It was gold, formed by sand, sparkling like starlight that he found in his hands. It was fine sand, shifting in his fingers, a master work that he had never seen before in his time ruling over the golden city.   
  
The fearlings in his presence jumped at it immediately, devouring the tip and turning the gold sand black, but the Nightmare King waved them away, preserving the line that led down and out of his own palace.   
  
He readied one of the nightmares, one of the noblest and strongest of breeds, and when he had mounted, he set the line of gold free. It immediately sped away, down, down, back to the golden city from whence it came, and the king followed it, riding on his nightmares and on a dark cloud, entering the golden city without startling its inhabitants.   
  
The golden thread disappeared into the chimney of a fine-looking workshop--a mage's house, with brick walls and a mixing cauldron set over a fire. The nightmare shifted back into shadow, and Pitch crossed the hall in slow, silent steps, looking for the source of the golden sand.   
  
It wasn't until he entered a room--a bedroom, with warmth and light and a sense of comfort that permeated the atmosphere itself--that he found it, dancing on the tips of a young mage's finger's.   
  
It was a young man, sitting on his bed but not resting, looking entirely pleased with his work. He was small in stature and rounded in shape, a soft pink on his cheeks and a natural gold to his hair, wearing the elegant but simpler robes of an apprentice, or even a new mage, who had not yet gathered the great experience or power of a well-to-do wizard or magician-conjurer.   
  
And yet, Pitch noted with interest, he had the sand. The king had never seen sandy magic before, and he had certainly never known anyone to reach out to the skies and touch his kingdom of Nightmares. Most magic would have the fear carried by its master, and would avoid his castle entirely. Yet this little mage's sand came to him like a curious animal, without fear but with wariness, all the same.   
  
The mage looked up when he noticed the Nightmare King's presence, his eyes wide and his sand collapsing onto the sheets, like a puppet whose strings were pulled. He looked surprised to see Pitch there--shocked, even. But what Pitch could not see in his face or feel in his heart was fear.   
  
He was not afraid.   
  
"Who are you?" Pitch said.   
  
The young mage startled, running his hands through his sun-shaped hair. Before him stood a grand king, with black robes shaped from shadow and silver like moonlight for his raiment and crown. He knew this king only by the stories he'd been told about him, but he had never seen him in person.   
  
The Nightmare King. Pitch Black.   
  
"What is your name, young mage?" the grand, dark voice repeated.   
  
"Sanderson," he said, in the quietest of tones. "Sanderson Mansnoozie, your highness."  
  
"Young mage," still the king called him. "How is it that you have come to reach my kingdom above the clouds? How is it that your spells should enter my place of dread darkness?"   
  
Sandy felt flustered. Had he truly? Had he entered the kingdom of Nightmares with his sand?   
  
"I'm sorry!" he said immediately. "I sent my sand out to reach above the sky, hoping it would reach somewhere far. Perhaps touch stars, or the moon. I did not know it would trespass on your realm."  
  
The Nightmare King walked over, his steps silent on the stone, his manner majestic and truly fitting for a king. Sandy knew his friends to be frightened of this king, but he could only find awe where others found fear.  
  
The king's face was gray, and cold, like stone, but his eyes were yellow, like little moons in a dark evening. Like a guiding force, like a guard till the dawn. It took a moment or two for Sandy to find his voice again, so lost in those eyes.   
  
"I am sorry," he whispered in the soft manner he was used to.   
  
"It is no small task to reach the kingdom of nightmares by your own power, young mage. I am intrigued. For magic is ruled by the heart, and the soul, and the heart and soul know fear. Your magic would know fear, if you felt it."   
  
And suddenly, the King was right beside him, towering over him with height impressive.   
  
"Tell me, young mage. Do you feel fear?"   
  
"I..." Sandy felt his mouth dry. "I do feel fear," he said honestly. "But I... I do not fear you."  
  
There was no movement in the king's face, but he seemed satisfied with this answer. He moved closer, examining the mage's face, and Sandy felt warm around the collar at the scrutiny.   
  
When the king pulled away, the mage told himself he wasn't meant to be disappointed, though that was what he felt.   
  
"Have you no nightmares, young mage?"   
  
Sandy shook his head in response.   
  
"Hm. There are still many nights to come yet," the king said mysteriously, before turning his back on the young man. He disappeared into a swirling darkness, and when Sandy tried to follow, it faded from his grip.   
  
But upon the floor was a jewel, black as the king's night, and its beauty drew him as he picked it up, and cradled it in his small, masterful hands. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandy is more special than he realizes.

That he treasured the jewel did not mean he kept it away, locked it up where no one could see it but him.   
  
No. Despite its importance, the jewel gifted by the Nightmare King had no twin. It was a rarity found nowhere in the golden city but in the hands of Sanderson Mansnoozie, and in his hands did it stay for many days.   
  
The jewel was special. It could deform and reform, like his sand, and it sparkled like far off stars when he formed it into ribbons. It seemed to have a life of its own, dancing around him with a subdued sort of grace, but it did as he bade, going to wherever he wished.   
  
And when he was done, the jewel would reform once more, same as it always looked--perhaps brighter, with the barest of gold trapped in its facets.   
  
Since he was a mage, it was forgivable for him to wear strange things. The jewel was small enough to wear as a pendant but large enough to draw attention, and it contrasted heavily with his traditional golden garb.   
  
He wore it over his heart on a lovely golden chain which he himself linked, and the first time he left his house since the evening he met the Nightmare King, Sandy found himself the center of attention when the other mages deigned to look down at his small stature.   
  
"That is quite the jewel," one remarked, his eyes gleaming with unbidden avarice.   
  
"It is no ordinary trinket," said another.   
  
"That is the darkest of stones," said a third. "Dangerous. Why should you keep it? It should be handed over to the council of mages high on the wall, to be studied."  
  
But Sandy refused, politely making it clear that no force could part him from the jewel if it were taken against his will.   
  
He found his words to be true when one of the flightier, cleverer mages tried to steal it right off his person. At one touch, the jewel collapsed into black sand and burned him--mildly, Sandy was relieved to find, but it was nonetheless enough to still the wagging tongues of the others.   
  
There were kinder folk. His neighbors remarked on its beauty, and were curious of its origins. It was a standard in the cities that gold was the precious and pure metal, but commonplace as the hue that colored the royal banners. Such a dark jewel, with all its shining and sparkling facets, was a wonder to them.   
  
Sandy told them the truth, though he kept certain details out. That he'd trespassed on a great lord with his golden sand was all too true, and that they'd befriended one another was arguable, but not so much a falsehood. And that the lord had gifted Sandy with the jewel as a testament to their meeting was undeniable, the proof resting on his breast.   
  
The dark sand continued to serve him as he polished his craft. He tried, once more, to reach up into the sky and knock upon the Nightmare King's doors, but there was no result to his endeavor. Perhaps he could not reach it as he had before. Perhaps the Nightmare King had since moved his palace to somewhere little sand mages couldn't bother him. Or perhaps he had succeeded, but Pitch Black was much too busy (after all, his job, protecting people, spreading fear and nightmares to the folk who needed them, that must have been a trying job) to respond to the gesture.   
  
Or perhaps he'd tired of Sandy's presence.   
  
Much too quickly, some would argue, but Sandy was used to being treated as a nuisance, by other mages and by fellows many years before.   
  
He was surprised, one night, when he looked out the window and saw a black horse standing outside his house.   
  
It was no ordinary black horse, he knew. For one thing, it gleamed in the moonlight, sparkling with what he realized was black sand, covering its body.   
  
He dressed quickly, and after some deliberation, wore the jewel around his neck and stepped outside.   
  
It was a sizable thing, frighteningly large, especially to Sandy, who was small enough for normal horses.   
  
It tipped its head down, and when Sandy stroked its nose, he realized that it wasn't actually covered in black sand--it was made of it.   
  
The horse went down on its knees, allowing Sandy to step up onto its back. It was bare, but beneath him, a saddle formed, and reins for him to hold onto. When the horse--the mare, he thought, the nightmare--was assured of his place, it took off, galloping right up the side of his house and up onto a line of black sand which led up, up high over the clouds.  
  
When they emerged from the dark white, Sandy gasped as he found himself gazing upon the kingdom of Pitch Black himself, grander than anything he'd ever seen and nearly as large as the golden city.   
  
And on the nightmare galloped, on to the gates of the palace of the Nightmare King. 

 

* * *

 

 

They crossed the threshold of the castle gate, the nightmare's hooves finding purchase on the black marble (it looked like marble, in the very least) floor of the entrance hall.   
  
When Sandy dismounted, finding his own two feet, he felt the jewel over his chest tug like a small animal, jumping out from its place and pulling him in the direction of a great doorway at the end of a shining hall.   
  
As he walked, he saw that his steps seemed to take the light away, leaving nothing but blind darkness behind him. He didn't dwell on it, too excited was he to see what was beyond the door.   
  
"Do you like it? My gift?"   
  
The voice didn't echo, though it had a hazy quality to it, like the shadow of smoke beneath a sun ray.   
  
He found himself in a drawing room, dark as the castle was wont to be, but beautiful, elegant rather than grandiose.   
  
"Someone tried to take it from you."   
  
Sandy looked to the window, where moonlight crept in like a welcome, but quiet friend. By it was a high chair of black velvet where the king sat, wearing nothing but a simple black robe, devoid of the kingly trappings Sandy had seen on him previously.   
  
"Yes," Sandy said quietly.   
  
"He is being punished as we speak," said the king matter-of-factly. "He writhes in dark dreams of his own devising, where every second passes as a day. He thinks perhaps he will never wake."   
  
Sandy flinched at the notion, and when he glanced back up again, he saw tired golden eyes watching him carefully, waiting for him to say something.   
  
"Would you like to see?" asked the king--Pitch, a little twinkle that was there and gone again in his golden eyes.   
  
"Is.... is that for my sake?" asked Sandy.   
  
The sharp knife-edge of a smile graced his gray features.   
  
"Yes."   
  
"Then.... then for my sake, stop it," Sandy said, begging rather than ordering outright.   
  
Pitch snapped his fingers, to no visible effect, and he said briskly, "It is done. He is now in a nightmare, a different one, nothing more than a small chase. Time runs as it must in his mind, and he will wake upon the morrow with half a memory of it."  
  
Sandy supposed that was fair. It was as nightmares were meant to be, for a night alone and no longer.   
  
"Thank you."  
  
"Sit," said the king, patting the moonlit ray in front of him. There materialized a plush chair of white, formed as if from the rays themselves, and Sandy smiled as he sat down.   
  
"The jewel," Pitch continued, gesturing for the dark stone hanging from Sandy's neck. The mage removed it, holding it out for Pitch to look over.   
  
"It is like my sand," said the mage. "And yet not. It's alien, but it allows itself to be guided. Like holding the hand of a friend."  
  
"It is the first of my dealings with sand," said Pitch. "I took inspiration from your work, and since then I have formed the nightmares in my service, and have guided them to touch people in their dreams."   
  
"More nightmares," said Sandy, trying to hide the disappointment in his tone.   
  
"Not more," said the king. "Only better. The greatest of my dark dreams would make their sleep more restless, would deprive them of the relief and the energy that comes with the morning. This way, I can let them rest, and let dark dreams be just that--dreams."  
  
Sandy smiled, dim gold lightening in the dark drawing room.   
  
"That's wonderful!" he said, clapping his hands once before asking, "but what of the fear? What of you?"   
  
The king returned the smile, more subdued and gentler than the sunny one of Sandy's. "My realm is the night. A man in fear must keep his wits, and must not falter. Without his sleep, man would fall prey to the very monsters which I strive to protect him from."   
  
Sandy gentled in his gaze, his heart warming the longer he looked on the nightmare king. "How could so many people be so wrong about you?"  
  
"Not the ones that matter," said Pitch, leaning over and returning the jewel to its place at Sandy's neck. When it was done, the gray fingers swept down until they found Sandy's small hand, squeezing it gently before the king himself stood up, towering over the other figure once more.   
  
"Come with me, little mage," he said. "I wish to show you something."

 

* * *

 

 

Upon the back of the nightmare, Sanderson Mansnoozie had flown. Though he'd dreamt of flight, and though his spirit was unbridled, it had never experienced true flight--not until Sandy was swept up into the shadowy arms of the Nightmare King.   
  
Like a cresting wave crashing down onto the shore, Pitch Black spread his dark robes like vulture wings and flew down, all-encompassing, to the earth. He passed over Sandy's golden home and went on to farther villages, where people slept, warm in their beds against the cold of night.   
  
They stopped at a little house, no more than a shack, on the edge of the woods. There was a little girl fast asleep, her father and mother in another room, having a nightmare that loomed over her head. They stood at the foot of her bed, and Sandy could see the shape of her nightmare--a facsimile of her, calling out silently to somebody who was not there.   
  
Pitch said nothing, as if waiting for something to happen. Impulsively, Sandy reached out and his golden sand reached with him, and the golden sand formed into the little girl's parents, taking her hands and turning her into gold as well. The nightmare turned into a sweet dream, and Sandy felt Pitch's hand tight upon his shoulder as they took flight once again.   
  
And though Sandy had no fear of Pitch, he was afraid that he'd done something wrong. Had he ruined the King's work? He never should have interfered!   
  
But when they landed on a snowy cliff, the moon high and full against the night sky, Sandy looked up at Pitch's face and saw that he was not angry. In fact, the look on his face was akin to wonderment, an expression Sandy never expected to see on the face of such a dark being.   
  
The great claw hand shrunk to the size of a man's, and the back of it gently caressed his cheek.   
  
"Little mage," he said. "Do you know what you are?"   
  
Sandy shook his head, eyes wide.   
  
The frightening gray mask he wore as the shadow over the land fell away as well, leaving the king's gaunt but noble face, his eyes alarmingly gentle.   
  
"You are mine," he said, clearly and softly, as he leaned down and kissed him.


End file.
